


Goddess

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dreams [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Worship, Confident Cullen Rutherford, Cowgirl Position, F/M, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: Cullen and Lydia's slow and sensual dance that becomes more as the night wears on...





	Goddess

**Author's Note:**

> originally a tumblr prompt :)

Cullen’s strides were unmistakable. Poured over the reports in the war room that morning, Lydia knew from the slight dragging of the feet it was the man she loved. Too, she also knew because only Cullen took a moment before taking his post to admire her derriere, and as she leaned against the table just so, allowing the best angle for his full appreciation, she heard his low, warm chuckle as his gaze no doubt swept over her hip and ass and long legs, and chuckled herself.

“Don’t look too long,” she teased, sorting papers.“Remember when Josephine caught you?”

She hummed as be broke the distance, his arms encircling her waist and pulling her close. She reached behind, caressing his bearded face, the two of them swaying from side to side.

“Commander,” she said, a low whisper. “You…”

She moaned as he left a kiss to the side of her jaw. “Be mine tonight,” he muttered.

She saw the scene in her head, the two of them naked and bathed in moonlight.

She flushed. “If you will be mine.”

Another kiss. Boneless, she melted into him.

“Always,” he promised.

“Be slow,” she bade. “Tonight, I want slow.”

He promised he would savor her. She promised she would love him gently.

They continued to dance a dance of long, held gazes that lingered during the meeting, and when Lydia delivered a report to his office later, his gloved hand brushed against hers. More promises for later, when they were skin against skin. When she retired for the eve, she closed the door to her room, infused her bathwater with jasmine, and bathed. Her hand slid down her leg, imagining it was Cullen’s. She ached. She wanted to touch herself. She waited for him. And as she finished her bath and drifted over to her vanity, she brushed through her long hair, imagining Cullen’s fingers through it. She thought of that gentle tug he sometimes did when he lay buried inside her. She wanted to touch herself again. Still, she abstained, putting her hair up instead so Cullen may take it down later. She waited, laying on her bed. She waited for her lover, and when she thought she had enough, she would run to him, dash through Skyhold in her lacy and frilly nightgown, he came.

There were hardly any words that night. There were also hardly any kisses, and none at all in the beginning, but Cullen kissed her in other ways, through his gaze and his hands. When he stripped her of her nightgown and took down her hair, he pressed her against his clothed frame, and she moaned at the feel of his hardness. But he made the beginning, and indeed he made the entire night a song of his love for her. That night, his hands on her body wrote the poem of his want. He did not kiss. His hands were his kisses.

He traced jaw and cheek with his forefinger when at last he laid her upon her bed, shoulders with strong palms, and he caressed nipples and breast with fingertips. He did allow one brief kiss to softness of belly, for he knew it was one part of her she did not like, but she reached for his hands to grab her there because she loved his hands and the way they felt and she wanted them everywhere. He obeyed. He gripped hips after, and she did not moan in disapproval when he did not touch her center yet. Though she pooled, she laid in wait. She wanted it slow. He gave her slow. He savored, as he said he would. He always kept his promises.

He caressed legs, kissed briefly her ankle, the kiss cherished more because it was placed upon a spot where kisses were hardly bestowed. He turned her around after, kneaded her shoulder blades, kneaded her hips. He grabbed her plumpness and she thought of the hard, yet sensual sound of his palm cracking against her cheek. She thought of it and then thought another day, another day when she didn’t want slow.

He turned her back to her front. He didn’t speak but his love was in his eyes and his hands. He didn’t kiss, not yet, but his hand drifted to part her thighs. She parted for him. He touched her clit. He rubbed and drew wetness from her cunt to rub more and draw the orgasm from her body.

It wasn’t soft. It was hard, and she was loud, Cullen still not kissing her as he usually did because the sound of his name on her lips in the highest point of her passion was music. She breathed hard and was boneless. He finally kissed her, and she was new again.

She stripped him quickly after that and she brought her taste off of his fingers, tongue swirling around strong digits after she laid him upon the bed. There was no slow after that. They were done with slow. It was a hurried dance as she sank on his cock and she rode him. Still his hands didn’t stop caressing or kneading. He left pink marks against flesh as her nails left pink streaks across shoulder, not hurting but reminding the two of the moment and the now. They fucked. It was base, it was primal. The hard slap of her hips into his cock coupled with the sound of her slickness was indecent. But he loved and she loved because she saw it in his amber eyes and felt it burn into her skin as he rose and moved her hair aside so he may press open mouthed, warm kisses to her neck. They fucked. They danced. They came together.

She held his face in her hands, watching the last of his orgasm ebb, relishing how his brows were bent in bless, how he had surrendered. She kissed his forehead and her love burned there, as his had earlier. She laid him back down, and as she remained inside him, she took both his hands in hers.

“You thrill me,” she said.

His grin was tired, his cheeks flushed. Little damp curls fell against his forehead. He was beautiful, spent, and her chosen. Her soulmate.

“Goddess,” he said to her.

The goddess kissed the hands that worshiped her.


End file.
